Flash to the Past
by Silvania Sand
Summary: Taking a trip back in time to add some depth to our beloved Team Phantom.


A/N; Don't hesitate to correct any of my spelling or grammatical errors. Many times I mix up common words [e.g. must and most; how and who], which drives me insane. I reread everything before submission, but I often miss silly things like that. This goes for any of my future stories/chapters, I just feel the need to throw it out there. I won't be offended. Criticism is also always appreciated. Positive or negative, so long as you have a reason. Simply 'This sucks' isn't criticism, it's uneducated insulting. 'This sucks because the storyline is out of order' or 'This sucks because this and that are contradicting' is much better.  
Also, the next two chapters will probably take awhile to produce. The only other thing I have to say is that while this is probably going to be the past the trio endured in my other fictions, I doubt I'll ever reference to them. Let bygones be bygones, eh?

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The breeze in the air made his short, dark hair sway. A giggle passed his lips when he reached the peek, falling back towards the Earth. Just before his impending doom, he was lifted back into the air, and two strong hands gave him another push. Oh, how Tucker loved to swing.  
And if there was one thing his six year old self loved more than swinging, it was his Aunt Sheela. She took him everywhere with her. They went on hikes through the twists and turns of the surrounding woodlands, cooled off in the gentle current of a nearby lake, and even had the lovely cliché picnics on the soft, grassy hill.  
Tucker and his imitate family lived out in a rural area; dense woods and sweeping valleys surrounding their small piece of paradise. Angela, the young lad's mother, had become a housewife a few months prior to his birth, and until a few months before Tucker reached the age of three. At that time, Angela's older sister, Sheela, came into the picture. She moved into town adjacent to their tranquil retreat. Sheela needed financial aid, so the Foley's decided to give her a job babysitting their toddler. She made her job fun, enjoying the time she spent playing with her nephew. It got to the point of Sheela spending more money entertaining the child than she made. So instead of carnivals and amusement parks, they took the to he beauty of nature. She'd get there at 9, and leave when his father got home around 6. That consisted of most of his active day dedicated to spending time with her. And to a four year old, that made her his absolute rock.  
Through the fits and giggles, Tucker was torn backwards off the swing; cradled and spun in Sheela's protective arms. She'd joined in the laughter, pulled the blissful boy down as she laid on her back; leaving the swing to creak to a halt. "Just look at all those clouds," her hand pointed skyward, Tucker's aqua eyes following. A grin was plastered to his face, a fish shaped clouds floating in the distance. He pointed them out to his Aunt, who merely smiled and planted a kiss on the boys forehead.

There was shoving and shouting, the young tyke being cramped into the back of the car. Most of the shouting came from his mother, and was directed at the said woman. In the rush of things, she'd practically gone hysterical. Poor Tucker could only sit and watch, as his repeated questions remained unanswered. The fear radiating off his mother seemed to choke his senses after his questioning halted, as he didn't even hear what she barked into her mobile phone. He didn't hear the engine roar to life, or see the flashing of green out his window. He mind was blaring with a stone cold emptiness, only snapping back to life when a hand tightened around his wrist and ripped him him the car.  
Tucker was dragged across the parking lot and into a large, mainly brick building; not complaining or resisting his mother's might. The interior was blaring white, the only break away from the purity from the tiled floors and crisp wall was the dark molding set in between. The air was dull, its only somewhat distinguishable odor being crisp linen. Most of the people she drug him passed were wearing either pastel colored shirts with cartoon characters strewn across them, or long, white coats.  
It was strange, he decided, especially when his mother barked more things to the people with colorful shirts that, too, where unregistered by the boy. They were directed to another branch of the hospital, the walls changing from a blanketing white to a deep crimson brown, a light shade of orange accompanying it on the floor as more linoleum flooring. He focused more so on the bright lights shining off the spotless tiles than to his frantic mother. He was worried, yes, but the nearly hysteric woman gripping his hand refused to respond to his interrogating. After many twists in turns and a few back tracks, they arrived in a room that looked like the numerous they'd passed on their trek there. The walls were again white, and his Aunt popped out from the contrast of color. Tucker jumped from his mothers hold and unto the bed before the matriarch (correct me if that's the wrong use of the word) could stop him. There was a grunt from the patient under the sheets, her tired eyes opening to get a look at the culprit. A smile replaced her previous emotionless face of exhaustion.  
"Hey there, bud. Gimme a hug." Tucker eagerly obliged, wrapping himself in her open arms.  
"Why are you here?" the boy looked up at her as his mother took a seat nearby; her earlier haste fading.  
"I got hurt," was her simple reply, her hand running over his soft hair.  
"Where?" he questioned, looking over her exposed arms.  
While her turned her arms with his own small hands, she shook her head. "Not a boo-boo. On the inside, like a tummy ache."  
"Must be a bad tummy ache to be here," he couldn't help but frown. He'd never been to a hospital, excluding his birth. He was a smart kid, but that didn't make up for his lack of experience outside the flourishing forest that was his home. Which proceeded to his next question, "Where are we?"  
"Well..." she trailed off, shooting a glance to her sister for assistance.  
"This is the hospital. It's, ugh, for people that are hurt very badly, like you said. Remember when Dad broke his arm? This is where the took him to get better."  
He nodded slowly, and pause before he let out another question. "And Dad got better. You'll get better, too, right?" his attention diverted back to the woman in question.  
"That's correct," a soft smile returned. "They just have to cut me open and fix what's inside."  
His eyes grew wide. "Cut you open? Won't that hurt?"  
Both the women chuckled, "No, silly, they make sure I sleep through it all. You can't feel when you fall off your bed while you're asleep, right?"  
Hesitation fell before a swift nod followed. "Good." With that, he snuggled back into her grasp.

The next day, Sheela was taken into surgery. Tucker insisted on watching, despite his mother reassuring him that not only would she be alright, but the scene wouldn't be pleasant. She gave in, mainly because she wanted to watch as well. She, too, was worried, although she'd been reassured by multiple doctors that an aneurysm is easy to fix, especially with Sheela previously perfect health. So in the observatory they sat; Tucker on his tip toes leaned against the window, peering down on the people spread below. His mother merely watched the screen that was directed at the small section of her skull that'd been cut open. The surgery had started an hour ago, and Tuckers father, Maurice, was just now joining them. He sat by his wife, asking how the operation was going. He was cut off, as if on cue, as a sharp beeping cut across the room. The pair jump out their feet, joining their son at the window.  
The screen they unintentionally ignored depicted blood gushing from the cut, and Sheela's blood pressure was dropping fast. The young boy didn't know what was going on, and didn't bother to ask. He merely stared at the women on the table, not quite sure what emotion is was that was consuming him into near paralysis. His parents weren't so lucky, becoming almost frantic as the blood continued to spew.  
Tucker could only see the thick red billowing onto the once sterile sheets. He didn't see much else from the event. He blocked it out. The beeping, the yelling from both his parents and the surgeons below. He didn't feel the cold floor hit the side of his face when his mind just couldn't take it anymore.

Cool water dripped down his face, a rag pressed against his forehead being its origin. His mother looked completely undead, his father sitting not too far from the couch Tucker occupied. His vision focused back onto the woman towering above him. There were dark stains from the unmentioned tears. Tucker automatically asked where 'Auntie' was. A small, sharp spurt slashed passed Angela's mouth, more salty tears slipping down her cheeks.  
"She's gone, honey," his father told him, glancing over at the boy while the again fretful woman composed herself.  
"Like in the hospital?" the hope in the tykes eyes drooped as his tone bared it's last spike of cheer.  
He simply shook his head no, eyes falling to the floor. Silence filled the room, and Tucker fled it. He still wasn't sure what he felt. There was pain, that he was sure of. He could almost taste the betrayal tinting the sorrow. She said she'd be okay. That her inside owwie would be fixed.  
She'd lied.  
_No, no_, something told him it wasn't her fault. That she wasn't the culprit, but the victim. It was the doctors fault. They'd messed up. They'd taken her.  
He found himself on the swing, the usually relaxing feeling from the wind gone. There was hate. There was pain. And, very faintly, there was guilt. The swing basically thrashed through the air, young Tucker's eyes furrowed in thought. It took effort to push away those venomous thoughts. He forced himself to thing of something happier, although not irrelevant. A small smile came to his face, tears of his own filled with mixed emotion fell to the ground. She was gone. It was an injustice. But she was a blessing to him, even if a seeming curse overwhelmed and tore her away.

His life had become reshaped by this event. He knew his love for technology and reject of the outdoors was because of her. It pained him to do the same activities without her. The things he learned from her never faded, but it pained him to recollect what just to be. He didn't fear hospitals, he merely hated them. Blood didn't scare him either, although it did make him a bit woozy after a great deal of it. The whole scared act helped him avoid any unnecessary pain, since his friends didn't know of the incident. Another things was Sam. Sam Manson reminded him so much of his beloved aunt, an instant hate for her was his protective shield against the pain. However, when she and Danny became friends in junior high, he learned to accept her. Over time, he became fond of her love for nature. Of her protectiveness over things that couldn't fend for themselves. She became like a sister to him, comforting one another in time of worry, or just keeping each other company.  
Some changes, however, were influenced subconsciously by his great loss. His repeated failed attempts to pick up chicks mended him deep inside. Somehow, it made him feel like loss wasn't such a big deal. Like it didn't have to hurt. Not getting in too deep with more than a few people kept his mind at ease. He almost tried to fail at getting a date, for hearts aren't as durable as the bond between friends.

The last time he'd seen her, she became a mere blanket of red. His red hat was her, in a sense, and it protected something she was fond of; his hair. That was the final honor to her memory.

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A/N: So there it is. I plan on editing some time in the future, but not in the sense of adding anything. merely rerewitting what's already there. For my own creative benefits, because I always feel like I'm being too redundant when I write. How do you feel about the length? I often think my chapters are far too short.  
Also, if anyone would be interested proofreading the rest of this and my future fictions, PM me! You'd be doing me a massive favor.


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